Published: February 1, 2026
Lizel frequently peeked into the letterbox he had once received from his own king.
After all, he never knew when a reply would come, and even if it did, there was no sign or warning. The only thing he could do was check it himself from time to time, so he would occasionally take the thin, ornamented box out of his pouch and open it.
Sometimes his own letter would still be inside, sometimes there would be nothing at all, but for now it felt like they were managing to exchange letters at a decent pace. Considering there had been a time when it sat ignored for an entire month, the fact they had already exchanged several rounds could even be called smooth.
Today as well, while he was teaching Arim ancient language and had a spare moment, he peeked inside and found, as always, an envelope stamped in gold with the national crest that only the king could use. No doubt he had simply used what was at hand, but in principle that special stationery was only meant for diplomatic correspondence between nations.
Smiling at how typical this was of him, Lizel broke the seal and spread out the several sheets inside.
“(Report on the country, His Majesty’s own condition, things about home…)”
He would read it carefully later, so for now he skimmed through it.
It was a relief that nothing major seemed to be happening. In reality, Lizel’s absence had caused countless minor problems all over the place that now had everyone running around, but since nothing truly critical had occurred, none of that was written.
He chuckled at the complaints about “a certain mercenary being noisy” and “Lizel’s father temporarily returning as duke and showing no mercy,” then nodded when he saw that there seemed to be progress in researching a way to bring him back. His gaze lingered on the line that always ended the letter, and he lowered his eyes, savoring the happiness it brought.
“I’ll definitely come get you. Go play and wait.”
He never told Lizel to look for a way back on his side. Lizel already knew that to His Majesty, returning to him was the obvious end point, even if he didn’t say it, and that this would never change unless Lizel himself said he no longer needed him.
If Lizel ever found a way home, he understood His Majesty would just use it without a word and come get him. If he had no idea where to even start, he understood too that His Majesty was the sort to think “may as well enjoy this while I’m here” and thoroughly make the most of things. This one line contained all of that.
Lizel folded the letter carefully and put it back into his pouch, deciding to write a reply once he returned to the inn.
“A letter, to teacher?”
The voice dropped in as if it had been waiting for him to finish. Lizel nodded with a smile.
From within that heap of overlapping cloth, only an arm stuck out as Arim’s pen moved across the page—he was probably looking this way. As always, Lizel couldn’t see inside the layers of fabric, so he couldn’t say for certain that Arim was actually facing him.
“I keep telling you to stop calling me that.”
“Teacher is, teacher. So. You don’t, like it?”
“I don’t dislike it…”
To be called that by a member of the royal family was far too much, Lizel said with a wry smile. Arim answered with his usual “ufufu,” a laugh so flat and monotone it hardly sounded like laughter at all. If Lizel had actually said he hated it, Arim would have stopped, but if Lizel only felt hesitant because Arim was royalty, then there was no reason whatsoever to stop.
Through the whole matter of keeping the guild in check, Arim had learned that Lizel was not someone who avoided competition, but someone who simply didn’t place others in a position worth competing against. Being smiled at in praise, then naturally accepting that and feeling fulfilled—this was the result.
And as a scholar, it was only natural that Arim respected the way Lizel used that knowledge to its fullest and reasoned his way right up to the secrets of the demonic bird cavalry regiment. If Lizel heard this he would surely say Arim was overrating him, but Arim thought so, and that was enough.